It is in the dark when I am most alive.
When the rest of the world is sleeping,
I am awake, letting my mind take over.
The true meaning of the dead of the night.
It’s when my creativity is heightened,
My mind unwinding and letting
The words flow like the waves of the ocean;
Loud yet peaceful and soothing.
The moon is my lamp,
And the stars are my thoughts,
Scattered across the sky,
Each one telling a story
Of my past, present and future.
Beauty is in the eye of the beholder,
At least that’s what I’ve heard.
But is it really in the eye of the beholder?
For when we talk about beauty,
Isn’t it the outer appearance that we speak of?
That’s shallower than the morning
Tide of the ocean.
What about under the make up
She has caked on her face?
Under the bundles of weave that weigh
Her head down as if many burdens
Were placed upon it?
What about under the clothes that she
Wears to impress men who don’t notice her,
And women she can’t stand?
What about beneath the skin,
The blood that flows through her veins?
What about underneath her scalp,
The brain that has worked overtime
Through two degrees and a master’s?
What about behind those eyes that have
Seen such dark things that light
may never shine through them again?
What about under her large breasts,
A heart that has been broken many times?